CLAMMY, ruffled and reeking of the public. This was no condition in which to be going on a date.
Thankfully I had prepared for such a situation by putting together an emergency kit of clean clothes and toiletries to ensure I could head off on any social event straight from the office.
I was to meet my hot Australian lady at 7pm in a nearby restaurant I had planned to start my personal grooming at 6pm but as the seconds ticked away I was soon running behind schedule.
Removing my sweaty, tearstained work attire and rinsing my head under the tap I hurriedly slapped some shaving gel against my face and clutched at the razor.
Having the leathery skin of a bullfrog, it has been years since I had to repair my face with those little squares of tissue paper.
I was therefore surprised to feel a sharp pain and realise to my horror I had managed to cut my nostril.
How did this happen? I wasn’t even shaving my nose.
Annoyingly despite it being a small cut it I seemed to be losing pints of blood.
I gingerly put on a new shirt and absent-mindedly applied the deodorant.
This didn’t feel as refreshing as the advert made out and then I realised while trying to protect my shirt from blood splatters I had just blasted my arms pits with a cooling shot of shaving gel.
Having dabbed myself clean I looked at my watch.
Hmmm...it wasn’t yet the kind of emergency that would see my running to the pub but I may have to scamper a little to make up for lost time.
I always ensure I arrive early for a date out of politeness so my companion does not feel awkward.
I tried to work out if my colonial cutie would be more offended by me being late or on time yet covered in blood.
I found myself sat in a restaurant still trying to stem the bleeding, comforting myself that being used to Australian men she would just be grateful I wasn’t belching or asking her to pull my finger.
I thought back to my school days, surely I would have been told if the out lip of the human nostril contained a major artery.
Then my date glided in and gasped: “Oh my God. What has happened to you?”
“What do you mean,” I said trying to act like a blood-soaked tissue was a perfectly normal facial accessory.
I tried to think up some James Bond style adventure but the cut was too small.
Would she believe I had rescued a cat from a burning building and caught my nose on a twig on the way out?
It certainly sounded better than the truth which would imply I was a bleeder, possibly with oddly hairy nostrils.
I broke and told her my tale of woe and with a look of sympathy she dashed off to fetch me some fresh tissue.
I saw a glimmer of hope...sweet pity.
If only I could make her feel sorry enough for me...
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